


soft, warm, sweet

by slashscribe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femlock, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashscribe/pseuds/slashscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's always been able to see through Sherlock, and Sherlock loves it.  </p><p>A quick lazy morning femlock story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	soft, warm, sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first femlock fic! I hope you enjoy it! It's unbetaed and unedited, so feel free to (kindly) let me know if you notice any mistakes. :)

Sherlock has never been prone to poetic thoughts, or at least she’s always been good at suppressing them, but something about seeing John in her chair, reading the paper, hair tucked behind her ear but one stray piece swooping out, makes her smile soften and something bubble up in her chest, makes her think things like _magic_ and _soulmates_ and _cool crisp morning air and dew on verdant blades of grass_. Something about the way the bulky sleeves of John’s oversized pajama shirt bunch up at her elbows, where John’s pushed them up and out of the way, something about the way the soft fabric is worn and loved, makes Sherlock think of comfort, of home, makes her heart feel as if it’s bursting. And something about the way the sunlight from the window falls on the planes of John’s face, dipping into the laugh lines around her eyes, caressing the delicate swoop of her nose, makes Sherlock’s stomach clench, makes her think of John at night, of the streetlight from outside filtering into their bedroom, dipping into the gentle curve of her breasts, disappearing between them, curling around her delicate collar bones.

 

John looks up and their eyes meet, and John raises her eyebrows and her lips twist into an amused smile. Sherlock, while misunderstood by many, has always been transparent to John, and she finds herself smiling in return, a light flush spreading over her cheeks.

 

“John,” she says, a pleading vulnerability in her voice she hadn’t been expecting but can’t be embarrassed about.

 

John smiles. Carefully, she folds the paper, smoothing out the wrinkles and setting it aside before standing, crossing the room and coming to stand before Sherlock. Her small hands settle around Sherlock’s delicate waist, and Sherlock’s breath hitches. Sherlock closes her eyes in anticipation and dips her head down, and John stretches up on her toes and their lips brush, gentle, and Sherlock sighs, feeling something warm settle in her stomach, and presses her lips against John’s once more, chaste, soft, warm, sweet.

 

John strokes her fingers up and down Sherlock’s back, and Sherlock pulls her closer.

 

“And what are we thinking about this morning?” John asks. There is an amused glint in her eyes, and Sherlock flushes.

 

“Can’t you deduce it, John? Haven’t you learned anything by now?” She means for her words to come out sarcastic, with a defensive edge, but they are somehow tender instead, and John smiles in response, bringing one hand up to stroke Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock leans into the touch, sighs when John’s thumb strokes the pillowy softness of her lower lip.

 

“I think I can guess, yeah,” she says. She smiles, warm and inviting, and Sherlock kisses her again, soft, warm, sweet, but this time with an undercurrent of desire, and then John’s fingers are woven into her hair and she gently pulls Sherlock’s head lower, deepening the kiss, and just as Sherlock settles into the way desire is pooling, molten, in the pit of her stomach, John pulls away, keeps their lips close enough that she can feel the warmth of her breath, and says, “Am I on the right track?”

 

Sherlock smiles, eyes crinkling. “I need more data before I can answer that sufficiently,” she says, and then they’re giggling, and Sherlock’s spine curves into a gentle arc and she rests her forehead against John’s for just a moment, cherishing the soft curves of John’s waist beneath her hands, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, nuzzling their noses together, letting her hands smooth up and down John’s lower back, feeling her breath hitch when John’s hand slides under her shirt. John’s hand, warm and strong, strokes up and down Sherlock’s side, higher and higher each time, until her fingers brush the side of Sherlock’s breast, and gently, John kisses her neck, warm and soft, and then her thumb brushes over Sherlock’s nipple, rubbing it to hardness, and Sherlock moans, pulling John closer.

 

“Let’s go back to bed,” John says. Her voice is huskier than usual, warm and sensual against Sherlock’s neck.

 

“Mm,” Sherlock agrees, and John takes her by the hand, leads her to the bedroom, urges her onto the bed. Sherlock lies down on her back and waits for her, and John smiles, straddling her at the waist.

 

“Take off your shirt,” Sherlock says, breathless, and John obligingly pulls her shirt over her head, tossing it aside and then running a hand through her shoulder length hair, letting it settle. Sherlock’s mouth waters at the way John’s breasts hang free, and she longs to touch them. She runs her hands up and down John’s sides, maintaining eye contact, and John’s expression goes soft in pleasure. Sherlock swallows, the sound loud in the soft quiet of the bedroom, and then John leans down and kisses her. Sherlock arches her back eagerly at the press of John’s body against hers, and then John breaks the kiss to tug at Sherlock’s shirt.

 

Sherlock shifts so that John can pull her out of her shirt, and then John settles against her. Sherlock moans at the way John’s breasts settle against hers and can’t help but shift her hips up towards John’s eagerly, and John goes back to kissing her neck, running a hand up and down Sherlock’s side, stroking her thumb over Sherlock’s nipple once more. Sherlock arches into the touch, and her heart beats faster when John starts to trail kisses down her neck, then gently takes her other nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue over it. Sherlock’s breath hitches and then John gently takes it between her teeth and Sherlock groans, the sound spilling out of her lips before she can stop it. John flicks her tongue against Sherlock’s nipple, pressing it up against her teeth, massaging it with her tongue, and the sensation travels straight to Sherlock’s cunt, warmth pooling there, and Sherlock moans when John’s hand gently twists Sherlock’s other nipple, her tongue and teeth still massaging all the while, and it’s setting Sherlock on _fire_.

 

“John,” she gasps. “John, John.” Her chest is heaving with the speed of her breath and it’s too much, the pleasure too intense.

 

John pulls off, smiles up at her. “Alright?” she asks, letting her fingers soothe down Sherlock’s side.

 

“Too – too much,” Sherlock says, still catching her breath. “It’s – it’s too – I want –“

 

John shifts up, kisses her soft and tenderly. “I know, love,” she says. Her hair brushes Sherlock’s face, and Sherlock shivers. John presses a soft kiss beneath her ear. “You’re so sensitive,” she breathes, her words ghosting against Sherlock’s damp skin, and Sherlock shivers again. John smiles at her wickedly and Sherlock’s heart speeds up, knowing John understands her reactions and knows how to bring her to the edge, knows how to make her lose control.

 

John ducks down and swirls her tongue around Sherlock’s nipple once more, then kisses her way down the center of Sherlock’s stomach, open mouthed and wet, and she reaches down and cups Sherlock in her hand, swirls her thumb against her clit through the thin material of Sherlock’s pajamas, and Sherlock throws her head back in pleasure, her hands curling into the bedsheets, her legs kicking out. She can feel dampness seeping through the thin fabric where John’s thumb is still moving back and forth, gently, and John swirls her tongue around Sherlock’s belly button, making Sherlock shiver. Sherlock brings her hands up to grip herown hair, feeling as if her nerve endings are on fire already, as if there is too much pleasure building inside of her for her to understand.

 

“Alright?” John murmurs.

 

“John,” Sherlock gasps. “Yes, _yes_ ,” she says.

 

John sits up a little bit to tug on the waistband of Sherlock’s’ pajamas, and she tugs them down along with Sherlock’s pants, and Sherlock looks up to watch, her mouth watering with desire at the way John looks down at her and licks her lips.

 

John slides her thumb down, and it feels warm and delicious and a breathy noise spills from Sherlock’s mouth before she can stop it. John leans down and kisses her belly button again, lets two fingers slide up and down in place of her thumb, dragging the moisture up and down. John is breathing heavily against her skin, and Sherlock can’t help it, she tilts her hips up towards John’s hand, and John lets her fingers press harder, teasing over her opening, as she kisses her way further down. Sherlock is trembling with anticipation, and the first press of John’s tongue against her clit is like fire, making her legs twitch and her hands come up to grip her hair again. “ _John_ ,” she says, voice choked, as John starts to swirl her tongue around her clit, warm hot pressure building and building in the pit of Sherlock’s stomach. John’s finger slips inside as her tongue continues to swirl around her clit, and Sherlock moans helplessly, her back arching.

 

John’s tongue is relentless, flicking against her clit, swirling around it, never ceasing in its warmth and pressure and all too soon, Sherlock feels a tension in her legs she knows means that she’s close, feels her back start to arch of its own accord, feels a tingling wash over her. “John,” she says, her words practically a sob, and then the pleasure is too much and her hands clench in her hair and she throws her head back, her back arching up off the bed, her cunt tightening and pulsing as pleasure washes over her. John is moaning against her, not stopping, licking her through the orgasm and then just as Sherlock’s body starts to calm, John pulls her mouth away and replaces it with her thumb, pressing just below her clit, making the orgasm wash over her once more until Sherlock is a heaving mess on the bed, trying desperately to catch her breath, her head spinning, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, stars blooming behind her eyelids, her clit pulsing in the aftershocks of her orgasm.

 

She loses track of time until John’s hands are wrapped around hers, pulling them out of her hair.

 

“Shh,” John says. “C’mon love, I know that was intense, come here.” John tugs on her and Sherlock doesn’t need any prompting; she rolls over and curls around John, buries her head in the crook of John’s neck, pushes one arm under John and the other around her waist, tangles their legs together. She closes her eyes and breathes, wills her body to stop trembling, is overwhelmed by the way her heart beats in her chest for John and only John, feels enchanted by the way John’s fingers run so gently through her curls, winding them around her fingers soothingly, playing with them, occasionally pressing a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head.

 

“John,” Sherlock says into the warm, familiar skin of John’s neck, desperation washing over her, a desire to be as close to John as possible burning through her body. “I love you.”

 

John tilts Sherlock’s head up, and she leans down to kiss her, her mouth warm with the taste of Sherlock on her lips. “I love you, too,” she says. The moment is quiet and soft between them, and then John’s lips curl into a playful smile. “Did I deduce what you were thinking about?”

 

Sherlock smiles, love curling around her heart and gripping tightly. “Half of it,” she says.

 

“And the other half?” John asks, one eyebrow raised.

 

Sherlock smiles wickedly and shifts until she’s straddling John. She leans down and kisses her, soft, warm, sweet, full of promise. She strokes her fingers along John’s jaw, presses a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Let me show you,” she says. “You can’t be expected to deduce _everything_ , after all.”

 

John smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and then they’re giggling, soft, warm, sweet.

 

 


End file.
